


Fleshed In Cruelty

by Empy (Empyreus)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blades, Blood, Bloodplay, Community: hpvalensmut, Family Dinners, Father-Son Relationship, Father/Son Incest, Hand Jobs, Incest, Kissing, Knifeplay, Lust, M/M, Minor Injuries, Obedience, Ownership, Possession, Rimming, Scents & Smells, Slightly Underage, Trust, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-14
Updated: 2005-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empyreus/pseuds/Empy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seemed to Draco that he was constantly watching his father when he visited Malfoy Manor during school holidays, trying to figure out what change the day had brought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fleshed In Cruelty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaleh](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kaleh).



> For Kahleh (kaleh).
> 
> Thank you to J for the beta.

_Fleshed in cruelty: young sporting dogs and hawks are rewarded with the first game they catch. This first introduction to flesh encourages the taste for blood._

* * *

The table was vast and empty between them. Lucius insisted that they dine together as before, with father and son at opposite ends of the polished rosewood table. Neither of them ate much, and Draco watched the food on his fork for a moment before setting the cutlery down. He could taste none of the food, though that was through no fault of the house-elves. It seemed to him that he was constantly watching his father when he visited Malfoy Manor during school holidays, trying to figure out what change the day had brought. Lucius _had_ changed during his stay in Azkaban, it would be foolish to think otherwise.

Lucius leaned on his cane a fraction as he walked, and the click-click sound it made on the floor tiles was much louder than before, but it was not a feeble walk. If anything, he seemed more tangible. More present. There was the vaguest hint of darker ash to his hair, and perhaps a suggestion of a line etched into his high forehead. The most visible change was how he had grown thinner. He was not emaciated, but new bone-angles had appeared. Sharper wrists and jaw, and a deeper shadow over the collarbones. Draco found he could not tell if it had always been there or if he only now had noticed it. The gaze was the same, cold grey like silver melded with pewter.

Lucius had lost none of his pride during the months he spent in Azkaban, and was still his immaculate self. In an effort to be like his father, Draco dressed to the nines when he visited Malfoy Manor, in white shirts rigid with starch. The cuffs were shot as they should, and the brushed platinum cufflinks drew no undue attention. He had grown during the summer, grown out of the discomfort of first adolescence, but he realized that he was still nothing but a boy to his father.

"You will join the Death Eaters after you graduate, of course," said Lucius suddenly, breaking the awkward silence that had descended at the beginning of the meal. "The Dark Lord has plans for you."

"You will live up to the Malfoy name," Lucius went on, standing up and crossing the floor with long strides. There was no room for argument in the statement, and Draco merely nodded mutely. He knew what was expected of him, as it had always been evident if not spoken aloud. "You will learn how glorious it is to share in the Dark Lord's power," said Lucius, leaning in to whisper directly into Draco's ear. He rested his hand on Draco's chest as he kneeled down beside the chair. "He rewards those loyal to him in a manner that makes Galleons seem like grit."

The adrenaline was rushing through his veins, and Draco could feel his pulse beat in the hollow of his throat, as though his heart had taken up temporary residence there. His hands, where they rested on the armrests of the chair, were clammy with cold sweat, the chill in stark contrast to the warm weight of Lucius's chest. "You will make me proud," said Lucius, his tone soft.

Draco opened his mouth, intending to assure his father that he never would do anything to dishonour the family name, but never got that far. Lucius leaned in and upward, placing his hands firmly on Draco's thighs for support. There was a nervous second in which Draco was quite sure the world had ground to a complete halt, and then that silly notion was dispelled by Lucius kissing him.

The kiss took him by surprise. Lucius's mouth was soft and pliant, his tongue teasing wet and tender at Draco's lips. Draco could feel himself relax, his squared shoulders sinking and his muscles slowly uncoiling. The kiss was like cold water, fluid and soft and he reciprocated, greedy and thirsty, stopping only when Lucius closed a warning hand around his throat.

Even though the room was lit by candles, his eyes watered, and he blinked furiously to clear his vision. As he regained his vision, he nearly shied back at how close his father stood. As Lucius caught Draco's gaze, he gave a little beginning of a smile. There was tenderness and bone-cold chill in the slight curve of his pale mouth, and Draco held his breath, curving his tongue up to touch his palate, lest he start suddenly and bite his tongue off. It was not a welcome reaction, and he could fabricate all the rebuke himself. It was not benefiting a Slytherin, let alone a Malfoy, to show trepidation. He could feel his own pulse beat in his temples, felt his own breath hot and rapid on his parched lips.

"Stand up," said Lucius softly, hooking a finger under Draco's chin. Draco obeyed hesitantly, forcing himself not to step back as Lucius leaned in. "As I recall, this is my shirt," said Lucius, sliding one hand down Draco's shirtfront. "No matter." His fingers made swift work of the buttons, and he slipped the shirt down over Draco's shoulders. Even though the air in the room was warm, Draco felt his nipples harden.

"Strip," commanded Lucius, tilting his head slightly to the side. "I want to look at my beautiful son." The implication was not lost on Draco, and his fingers shook a little as he reached for the buttons of his trousers. He wished he had worn his robes instead of the old-fashioned Muggle-like clothes, as his fingers were far too clumsy.

"Keep your back straight," said Lucius as he leaned over to pick up a sharp knife from the table, taking care to select one that was clean. He pushed the rest of the plates and cutlery back, making a wine glass overturn and spill its contents over the white tablecloth.

Draco failed to obey the command and swayed on his heels, his head sinking. His back curved, and as his chin pressed against his chest, he could feel the soft flutter of breath ghost over his stomach. He was weak, drained of any power while he was in the high-ceilinged rooms of Malfoy Manor. His head was weak, but his cock was hard, a single pulse point between his legs.

He could feel the cold silver of the knife Lucius was holding draw along his side, sliding over rib after rib, the edge nicking and biting but never drawing blood. Lucius's breath was soft on his skin, soft in contrast to the cold hard metal and the sharp edges of the knife.

"Do you trust me, Draco?"

"Yes, father," said Draco, his voice cracking slightly at the end. He tried not to move, focused on the fact that oh Merlin, it was a knife, a _sharp_ knife that could slip at any moment. He could feel the blade trace down along his torso like a cold silken band, then the edge turned to slide narrow and sharp down over his hip, bringing forth a fat drop of blood. As the metal slid along his cock, he swallowed thickly, thinking that the metal had suddenly gone colder than ice. Lucius traced a spiral with the knife just at the base of Draco's cock, then lifted the blade and placed it against Draco's throat. Draco tilted his head back slightly, then squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he felt Lucius close his other hand around Draco's cock. The grip was firm and expert in a way that made a thousand indecent mental images flit through Draco's mind. _He's done this before, oh Merlin, he's far too good at this..._

He was choking on air, his breath so stuttering and ragged that Lucius stopped his ministrations. "No," Draco weakly managed between gasps, "don't stop." The blade slid against his neck, the edge bumping over his Adam's apple, and he felt the long muscles in his thighs start to tremble. He was tiring, but tensed his muscles further as he felt Lucius swipe his thumb over the tip of his cock.

"Father, please," he said, begged, breathing unevenly already.

"Please what?" Lucius purred, his tongue cleverly tracing over Draco's lips in a caress so light it was barely there.

He had no words. They had all fled, danced laughing into the shadows at Lucius's first touch. Mercifully, Lucius realized Draco wasn't going to come up with a coherent answer, and he broke the kiss, stepping back half a step. Draco's hands still held on to him, a clenched-finger grasp bunching the silken fabric of his shirt, making the buttons splinter and threads break.

"You must learn to obey without hesitation. It is not your place to be demanding." The edge of the knife pressed deeper into the skin of Draco's throat, making more blood bead along the cut. The wound was not deep, barely enough to scar, if that. "It is the most important thing that you obey every order issued by the Dark Lord."

The slow smile was still on Lucius's face when he lowered the knife, wiping the long blade on the palm of his hand. He was still fully dressed, though the expensive silk shirt now hung open, two button-holes frayed and torn. For a second, Draco found himself wondering if that was how Lucius looked during his stay in Azkaban. Now, at last, the smile widened into a genuine smile, and Lucius stepped forward, letting the knife fall negligently to the floor before taking hold of Draco's arms and steadying him.

"Well done," breathed Lucius, his mouth a scant inch from Draco's ear. His hands slid slowly down Draco's bare arms, fingers lacing behind Draco's back. The movement pressed Draco up close, forced him into the circle of Lucius's arms, and in such close quarters, he could smell the heavy cedar of Lucius's cologne. The shirt he wore must have been an older one, because Draco knew Lucius no longer wore that particular scent. Perhaps much wear had forced the fragrance into the fabric. The scent was too strong, alien, and he turned his head. Lucius was not taken aback. If there was anything even remotely resembling surprise, he kept it well hidden. He met the grey gaze levelly, then stroked his right hand through Draco's hair, finally gripping it to pull Draco's head back. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the vein that must be ticking visible under the thin skin, then kissed the long row of blood droplets that ran across Draco's neck.

The light outside had abruptly gone from grey to black, intimating there was rain outside. The branches of the oak outside the dining room windows beat against the glass, and as Draco focused on the shapes a second too long, Lucius grabbed him by the hair to pull him into a greedy kiss. Draco felt owned, possessed, and he knew it, did not mind it, as long as he could stay in that state forever, burning and breathless. He was crushed by the lust, his bones creaking.

Lucius slid his hand down Draco's belly, the drying blood on his palm catching on the skin, and Draco gave a loud moan as he felt the palm close around his half-hard cock. It was like an ache, a roar and thunder in his nerve endings, and he clenched his thighs. Lucius's fingers were impossibly clever, spidering and sliding, slipping and searching, the pad of his index finger finding a frighteningly vulnerable spot. Draco bucked against the grip, his free hand seeking to repay the favour, but Lucius merely gave a hiss in warning. "You will do what your father tells you," he whispered, in a tone cold and soft. His lips were pinker now, infused with blood and blood-heat, and as he pressed a rough kiss to Draco's mouth, Draco feared the kiss would sear into his lips and brand them.

"Lean on the table and turn your back to me," commanded Lucius.

Draco obeyed, taking a firm hold of the edges of the table for support. He let his head hang down, looking from underneath half-lowered lids at his own chest and at his cock which jutted hard and throbbing between his legs. He couldn't touch himself in this position, not without pitching forward headfirst onto the table. The curlicues on the edges of the table dug painfully into his hands, and he shifted nervously as he heard a rustle of fabric behind him, a silk-soft whisper followed by another rustle. The sleeve of Lucius's shirt billowed into view next to Draco's right foot, and he could feel the scrape of a slightly heavier fabric brush along his calf and pool around his ankle. He would only need to turn his head to the side to see Lucius's tall pale reflection in the windowglass, but he kept his gaze fixed on the polished wood of the table. _Naked_ , he thought, _he's naked and there is no turning back now_.

As he felt Lucius's fingers slide between his legs, he gave a snarl, tensing up. Lucius stroked the backs of his fingers up the small of Draco's back before speaking. "Do you trust me?" he asked again, before pressing a kiss to the small indent at the base of Draco's spine.

"Yes," said Draco, the single word sounding like a sob. "Yes, of course yes." He fisted his hands into the tablecloth, fearing his knees might give out at any moment. The edge of the table was digging into the tops of his thighs, and the tablecloth was chafing against his cock, but he didn't dare move. Lucius's hands parted his legs, and Draco pushed his hips back, feeling wanton and yet curiously unashamed. He didn't know what to expect, and gave a hoarse little cry as he felt Lucius's tongue tease slick and wicked at the cleft of his buttocks, then his long fingers pulled the flesh apart, spreading him so lewdly that Draco felt his face heat with sudden incongruous shame. His thoughts snarled into each other when Lucius thrust the tip of his tongue in, and he rocked back and forth, rising up to stand on his toes. He seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, and mercifully, he had also forgotten to feel any sort of shame. All he could focus on was the feel of Lucius's tongue, on how it squirmed and teased and dipped so deep Draco lost his breath. It was wrong, so _wrong_ , but he felt like he would die if Lucius stopped what he was doing.

All he could utter was a helpless moan, and he pressed his forehead against the linen tablecloth, pushing back and at the same time trying to haul himself forward. There was very little elegance in the act, but he wanted none to begin with. There was a taste of blood in his mouth, a token from his parched lips, and it made him feel more alive.

His hold slipped, and his knuckles slammed painfully against the curlicues of the table before he could wrap his fingers around the wood again. Lucius had hooked his cold fingers around Draco's hip, and the small dashes of cold were in curious and unsettling contrast to the heat of his skin. Draco could feel the soft stream of Lucius's breath on the inside of his thighs, and it made him suppress a shiver. His hands clenched and unclenched, his palms sweat-slick and failing to find purchase on the polished wood of the table. If he looked up at his hands, he could still see the thin lines of blood that had stained the back of his hand. He could still taste the copper in his mouth, the tang that lingered sour around his tongue, and he licked at his parched and equally blood-stained lips. He tried not to think about where and when Lucius had learned which crooks and veins of the body yielded the most blood with the least damage.

The wine glasses that were still standing rocked precariously back and forth, and one toppled over, sending red wine spilling over the white tablecloth. Draco could feel his own mouth move, but heard nothing bar his own loud and choking breaths. His thoughts were nothing but a confused snarl around the words _more_ and _now_ , and suddenly the web was torn apart in a single violent jerk. He fell, and held onto the table to hard his fingers hurt, because his legs no longer carried. He felt his stomach grow slick, heard the wet sound his skin made against the polished wood, and he gave a loud groan. There was another wet sound, like a kiss being broken, and another helpless shudder passed through him. Oh, he knew what that sound was, it was Lucius's tongue in his arse, and he should be ashamed for being so wanton... He pushed himself up, his arms weak and trembling, and turned around to face Lucius. His knees still threatened to give out, and he leaned heavily on the table.

Lucius sat down in Draco's chair, sprawling back with indolent ease. Though he was naked and sweaty, he still retained his air of elegance, and as he caught Draco's gaze, he gave a wide smile. He rested both of his hands flat on his thighs, calling attention to his impressive erection. Draco answered the smile, knowing full well what was expected of him.

His legs were prickling with pins and needles and postorgasmic lassitude, and he gingerly lifted his feet to avoid stepping on the shards of china that lay strewn at his feet. He pushed a fork to the side with his foot before resting one knee on the edge of the chair, between Lucius's legs. He leaned in, taking hold of the carved back of the chair for support before kissing Lucius, who gave a low sound of contentment. He could taste himself, a dark and rich taste that grew all the more sinful when he thought about what it truly was.

Sliding his hand down Lucius's chest, he twisted one pale nipple, digging his short nails into the flesh. Lucius gave a groan, pushing his hips forward. Draco realized he would not be able to do what he wanted in the present position, and he moved to straddle Lucius's lap. The position wasn't the most comfortable, but it would have to do. He drew his nails up lightly along the inside of Lucius's thigh before wrapping his fingers around Lucius's cock. Lucius closed his eyes, his eyebrows knitting as his lips parted lightly. Draco stroked harder, forsaking finesse for friction. It only took a few hard strokes to bring Lucius over the edge. He was as elegant in this state as he always was, but Draco saw beneath the veneer, saw the way Lucius's eyes were impossibly dark when he opened them, saw the muscles of his neck tense. Leaning in, he captured Lucius's mouth in a deep and greedy kiss, shifting his position until he was chest to chest with Lucius. His knees protested, but he pressed closer until their slick stomachs touched. His heartbeat was still loudly echoing in his ears, and his mind reeled with the implications of what he had done.

Lucius raised his hand and drew his index finger along the dried line of blood that bisected Draco's throat, but as he opened his mouth, Draco shushed at him. His voice was unexpectedly rough when he spoke.

"Leave it be, father. I want to keep it as a memory."


End file.
